


Watson's Patients

by ancalime8301



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Misogyny, POV John Watson, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recently returned from Afghanistan, Watson finds himself occupying his hours by serving an unexpected clientele.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watson's Patients

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/)**watsons_woes** July Writing Prompt #9: _Healer's Choice. One person Watson chose not to save._  
>  So... this is the short version of the story. I had lots of thoughts that would have ended up in something at least twice this length, but I didn't have the time to indulge all of my ideas so I ran with the one I thought would be simplest while still addressing the prompt. It still ended up longer than I expected.

One particularly lonely day after my return from Afghanistan, I thought to resort to paid female company. It is easy to find such when desired, and it wasn't much time at all before money had changed hands and I was in the girl's room.

At that point I found myself unable to continue, for I recognized signs of illness on the girl and pitied her. She was younger than I and already her life was wasted. In that moment of weakness, I offered to do what I could for her medically; she stared at me in silent disbelief for several long moments before saying yes.

The one patient quickly led to others as word spread amongst women in similar predicaments--gossip was one of the few real pleasures in their lives--and while I was uncertain how such a clientele would affect my future prospects as a respectable doctor, they were so grateful. It was also a nice change to be earning some money rather than losing it; though it chafed me to take what little money they had, they insisted upon payment--most were well aware that they could get more and better-paying clients for a longer period of time if their health was good--and I made it clear I would not accept favors, so we worked out a modest payment system.

Many of the women I saw lived in the same rundown house, managed by a man whose harsh reputation was legendary in those circles. The stories I heard were terrible, and the poor condition of the women under his supervision--I would not call it "care" by any means--testified to the truth of them. I was fortunate not to encounter him in numerous visits to the house, though my luck had to run out sometime.

Then one day I arrived at the house later than usual; I slept poorly and was slow in completing my necessary errands. When I finally made my way to my first patient's room, I found she wasn't alone. A burly man had her by the shoulders and was shaking her savagely as he growled at her, saying something I could not understand. My hands tightened on my bag and my cane as I weighed when and how to interfere.

I had my chance when he flung the poor girl hard enough toward the wall that I could hear her head thump against the wood. She slumped to the floor, unmoving. I dropped my bag and stepped forward, wielding my cane like a club. It struck him in the temple, but still the brute turned toward me, snarling.

"Who do you think you are?"

"I am their doctor."

This answer did not satisfy him, and he attacked me in a rage. I held my own for as long as I could, but I was tired and sore and not in fighting shape. He quickly had the upper hand and soon pinned me against the wall beside the door, choking me with my cane.

"Let him go." The stern feminine voice was accompanied by the sound of a gun cocking.

"You're next, my dear," he sneered, glancing briefly toward the door. I used his distraction to kick him squarely in the knee at the same time that the gun went off.

He staggered back and I gasped for breath, stars dancing in my vision from the lack of oxygen. The man sprawled on the floor, bleeding heavily from a wound near the heart. It is possible I could have done something to aid him, perhaps even save him depending on where the bullet was, but the others were my first priority. If he bled out before I had finished tending them, well, it was his just deserts.

"Are you all right?" I asked the girl at the door who still held my revolver in her shaking hand.

She nodded, staring at the growing blood pool on the floor.

"Leave the gun beside my bag. Tell the others stay in their rooms, then fetch the police. Tell them only that a man has been shot."

She nodded again, set the gun down, then ushered the gathering cluster of girls away from the doorway. I crouched beside the girl who remained slumped against the wall, though her eyes were now open. Her face was bruised and she was cradling her left arm.

I carefully tended her injuries, which were numerous but not life-threatening. The beating she had taken before I arrived did not appear to have caused internal bleeding, which was my greatest fear, though I would have to keep her under observation to be certain.

I helped her up onto her bed when I had determined that doing so would not worsen her injuries; by the time I had gotten her settled, the police had arrived and were standing over the unmoving body. They only glanced at the girl on the bed.

"What's all this, then? You unhappy with the service?" A constable asked me, smirking.

I drew myself up as straight as my bruises would allow. "Hardly. I'm their doctor, and it was self-defense."

The constable did not seem convinced, but the inspector behind him had the look of a man who'd seen nearly everything. It was he who took over discussing the matter with me, asking only a few brief, disinterested questions before he seemed to consider the issue settled. He took my name and address, if "any questions arise, but I shouldn't expect that."

When the police cleared out they took the body with them, so only the bloodstain was left of the man who had reigned the house in terror for years. Several of the girls appeared in the doorway as soon as the police had left. One of them voiced the question that was foremost in their minds: "Doctor, what do we do now? Will we have to leave?"

I had to admit that I didn't know, but I vowed to help them find out.

**Author's Note:**

> End notes:  
> 1\. In my head, this could lead to an alternate Watson-meets-Holmes scenario. It could also go a number of other directions. I didn't have time to find out which avenue the muses currently favor. ;-)  
> 2\. It is intentional that the women's names aren't given; in this world, they are seen more as objects than as people. The ladies all do have names, of course (Eve was the one he first saw, Lucy was the one being beaten, Vivian wielded Watson's gun, and there's also Penny and Kitty and Sarah and several others).
> 
> Followed by [Peculiar](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4311369)


End file.
